Posts Tagged ‘women

Why do you not allow people to block others from searches? It seems like an incredibly easy thing to do, and yet for some reason you people up there on your high & mighty online dating throne frown upon it.

This does not come from a bad place…as in, I’m not trying to block the ugly chicks (after all, that would be a bit hypocritical), or the 43 year old mom with a half set of teeth & 3 rugrats. Whatever, if they want to view my profile and shoot me an email more power to them. I can’t guarantee a response, but that’s the risk they take. As a real quick aside, I would much rather not receive a reply to an email than the “polite no thank you.” At least without a response I can tell myself that the female in question just has not paid for a membership yet, and as such can not read or respond. I mean, what other reason could there possibly be for her not wanting to talk to me? Hey, whatever helps you sleep at night, right?

Anyway, what was I getting at? Oh yes, blocking the crap out of certain people from match…which people, you might ask. Fair question. Two groups really. One is easy, people I effing know & don’t want them knowing I’m on a dating website. This request does not come from shame or anything like that, but simply there are certain people (most of them have the female genitalia) that don’t know how to keep their mouths shut. And quite frankly I don’t need everyone in the small town I live in knowing that I’m on match.com for the 4th time in two years. Perhaps there are females in the general population that do not belong to match that I might be interested in that will hear about my apparent fetish for online dating catastrophes and not have a mutual interest. Perhaps I just don’t like people talking about my personal business.

The 2nd group does come from a place of slight embarrassment I guess. I don’t want women I’ve gone out with, who I have then subsequently told I did not want to see again (and in many cases, vice versa) to have the pleasure of knowing that I’m back on the match scene. Is that vain? Why yes, yes it is. But it’s my life, and my blog, and my account, so I don’t really care. Although I’ve just realized that if these people see me, I can see them too…which means they are just as desperate excited to find the love of their lives. However, my point still holds, let me block people. Please.

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From now on I’m going to post guest letters on the main page, just way easier to find and comment. Today’s edition comes from Leoni Evans (http://twitter.com/#!/legpresslover), who is a fan of beards, which is a good thing for me.

Dear Tommy,

I didn’t really know how to start this letter but I would like to say thank you. To many people especially my family and friends that would seem strange but I cannot begin to express the impact you have had on my life and my outlook. From the second we met in that chance encounter you had me smiling and for the first time in years I felt happy and probably for the first time ever I felt truly content. You have given me faith in love, you have shown me what love actually is, what it can and should be. You are a hard act to follow, I will never settle for anything less now.

From an outside perspective it would appear that you broke my heart, but it was the situation that was the heartbreaker not you. As cliché as it sounds I believe that if our circumstances were different we would still be living a happy life together. The person you are and how you live your life is responsible for a lot of that, with your health conditions you are somewhat like Peter Pan and I envy that. Yes you have a tendency to over think things at times but for the most part you live life for the moment, you look for fun and kicks, I wish I could live my life like that but it isn’t my nature, we complemented each other in so many ways.

I have never experienced such a raw and animalistic attraction with someone before, remembering the way you would chew your lip, let out an uncontrolled guttural growl and grab me close still brings a smile to my face. I really miss the closeness we shared, the way that we unconsciously stroked or touched each other, the way we slept entwined all night, and how even during sleep we reached out if the other had moved. I felt so connected to you and being in your arms felt like home.

I felt it then and still do now, you complete me. Life took us in different directions, and as much as we felt for each other sometimes you listen to your head not your heart. To this day I regret not driving those 6 hours to see you when you said you couldn’t do it anymore, to see your face one last time to end our time together properly, to reassure you that I did know it was the best thing for us to do although it felt like everything was falling apart.

I hope to meet you again in the future, when I’ve done the things I want to do and am in a position of freedom. I know that won’t be for at least a few years and that a lot of things can happen over that amount of time, but deep down you will still be the same young, fun, caring and loving person you always have been and someone that can only enhance my life.

Until that day arrives I hope we both continue living in a way that brings us happiness, laughter and love.

Maybe if Delta hadn’t screwed me again for the 2nd time in a week. Maybe if the burger I had ordered while waiting at JFK for 5 hours hadn’t been overcooked with the wrong cheese on it. Maybe if the iced tea I ordered hadn’t been peach (with no warning, I hate that crap). Maybe if the two drunk ritards next to us at the gate weren’t so loud and obnoxious. Maybe if I had a bigger set of balls…Maybe I would’ve taken my ipod off and chatted you up. Crap, I just used an incredibly British phrase, I hope I’m not turning into one of those assholes that goes to London for a week and comes back pretending to be English.

Anyway, I’m actually reviewing the last paragraph and realizing it’s not really true. All those things happened to me, yes; but none of them prevented me from talking to you. The only thing that did that was the same thing that prohibits me from talking to a random female at the grocery store. What is that thing? I’m not entirely sure. It’s part because it’s a slightly abnormal social situation, part not wanting to be ‘that guy,’ part being a bit of a p-word when it comes to approaching females.

But at the end of the day, what can I say in that situation that doesn’t make me come off like a skeevy asshole? Besides, you had your headphones in too…it isn’t as if you were inviting some dude that had been traveling for nearly 24 hours (but didn’t smell like it, always throw some deodorant in your carry on when traveling internationally) to hit on you. And let’s not be bashful here, it was going to be an effort to hit on you/flirt with you, even if it was only a mild one. Was there a fleeting moment where I imagined us talking for 10 minutes before sneaking into the bathroom for a quickie? Of course there was. But really, I just wanted to spend 20 minutes talking to an attractive female. Neither happened.

Just do me a favor, next time you travel and don’t want to be bothered, don’t wear a shirt that shows so much cleavage. It attracts attention.

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6/3/11 – Im putting this on the home page b/c it’s too long for the Guest Page. And because I can. Because it’s my blog.

our 5th guest letter is a bit different. it’s 100% serious. and 100% awesome. this girl had me pretty close to tears. ill say no more. she wanted to remain anonymous so without further ado (ps its long. like, really long. but worth it).

T.

I find it a bit ironic that I’m writing you of all people a letter of gratitude after, you know, everything.

I still have so much negative energy toward you that it startles me to find myself thinking of you at random and I can feel my body tensing up palpably, a defense mechanism against even simple thoughts of you.

It wasn’t all bad, was it though? I could write at you for hours if I fixated on all the yuck, but I don’t let myself do that these days. Today I’m here to thank you. That’s all.

Yes, surprise should be your natural reaction.

Remember that night we walked around, side by side, next to the water? It was three am when we began, that second weekend up at the lake, before anyone had really made friends or moved in that summer. I had just gotten off a shift working the door at the bar. My head was swimming with love for this strange new place, my own daring to go through with it, and this life and the summer and all the people and their energy.

I was buzzed, my shift ended in a couple of Starry Nights and a Red Headed Slut. I hurried home under the stars to a promising group of new characters on the front porch. The kind you laugh with and look around at with glee before you realize they’re barely disguising how much they’ll ultimately want to crush you to feel bigger, brighter, more. But not then, then it was just so. A perfect storm to start the greatest summer. It was the greatest summer, wasn’t it?

Finally, everyone retired to their own rooms and new beds, so many still- unfamiliar names and faces swirling around in their heads. But we weren’t done, then. Just us. We walked for hours that night, literally. You had to work at eight that morning and we were just approaching the restaurant as it opened at seven. We strolled in and ate breakfast together like it was the most natural thing in the world. I had to work at 10:30 am, but by then I didn’t need sleep. I was electric. Completely lit with energy, my veins felt too full to hold my body. We dined, we laughed, across from each other, hours into a conversation that flowed so beautifully that I feel physically ill even now just thinking about the ease. Still strangers, but losing mystery by the minute. We finished eating and you went to work and I half-skipped back to my room in the dorm building, already smitten.

We never touched that night or morning, except when our arms collided briefly as we swatted our way through a cloud of gnats, somewhere amid hour three. Or maybe I shook your hand in introduction. I can’t remember if I was still in that phase.

There aren’t many nights or moments in my life that I would honestly label as perfection. They’re all scattered and rare and mostly fragments of bigger, bitter disappointments. But this night, this one was perfect.

We were perfect.

I wish we could have, would have, just stopped there, hanging frozen in time. I wish we’d never have met again. I don’t need the years of everything that went deeper and stole pieces of me and destroyed others, but I’d keep that night. Hell, I’ll keep it anyway. I’ll hold it deep in the depths, no matter the way things turned out.

Remember that night when you told me you loved me more than you could ever love yourself? That’s the fucking saddest thing anyone has ever said to me. It was all falling apart by then, anyway. But even more than starting to hate you for saying it, I hated and still hate myself for feeling the need for you to mean it as it started to seep in. Through all my cracks and little broken parts, eventually invading the whole and knocking me off course.

You may not love yourself, but you certainly never loved me either.

That’s not what this is about. I’m writing to thank you. There’s not really much I can honestly say I’m grateful for when it comes to you, but I do treasure the way we met, that perfect night.

Thank you, for being handsome and charming and for just talking to me. Thanks for not trying to get in my pants or making me feel awkward or embarrassed so you could take advantage. I’ve seen you do that so many times to so many people, preying on insecurity. But not that night. For whatever reason, you let me feel like I was the right girl with the right mind at the right time.

You’re just so goddamn handsome, it’s disarming. It was disarming.

I hope you’ve got everything you need. I hope someday you turn your head up to the sun and realize it’s always been there, just waiting for you to realize it. I hope you’re warm at night and that some girl finds a way to disarm you, but doesn’t abuse it like you do. I hope you wrap your giant, graceful fingers around her fingers and catch them in her hair. I hope you drown in her eyes the way I felt I couldn’t catch my breath looking into yours.

I hope you stop making promises, because you’ll never understand how a broken promise from your direction can cause the edges to crumble off an entire world.

I hope you never contact me again; because you know I’ll always tell you everything is going to be all right. It’s cruel. Remember those months of page upon page we typed to each other? I waited each time for yours with baited breath, devouring every punctuation mark and pronoun with my heart. I knew you didn’t love me then, but that didn’t stop me from loving you anyway. Us, playing at friends. We were never fucking friends. Thanks for helping me realize the difference between hiding behind words for comfort and actually wanting to build a genuine friendship with someone. It was the closest you ever came to needing me though, wasn’t it? A steady fix of reassurance in your darkest moments. I hope I never need anyone like that.

More than anything though, the stupid, silly, selfish, girl in me hopes you remember that one perfect night as vividly and as reverently as I do. I hope you keep it suspended over you like a mobile, or an umbrella. A reminder of how living cosily inside the exact right place at the exact right time feels. Those moments before we learned how to hurt each other and who could make it the deepest.

You always won.

By the way, thanks also for the wreck plate that last morning. Remember? You dumped me for the last time fifteen hours later. I thought you loved me then, that hurried-with-oversleep morning as you grabbed your phone and called in the order, just in the nick of time. You, always keeping me on my toes, in the dark, knocked on my ass.